title: retrogression

warnings: mature language, mature themes, sexual-ness later on. i'm not responsible for any possible trauma those under 10 might experience while reading the naughty words. & i warn that i might not update for long periods of time lol oops

credit & disclaimer: all credit goes to ryan murphy & brad falchuck & all the wonderful writers of ahs. i in no way own ahs. if i did, i wouldn't be writing ahs fanfiction

author's note: you guys are so perfect! i'm in love with your sweet reviews, they're really great fuel. i'm muy sorry about not updating in so long, i had exams, then prom, then more exams. it was a pretty hectic time. hopefully this chapter will make up for it? {you're cute people who say cute things}

chapter 4

.

Kyle slumped over in his seat, exhaustion weighing on his eyelids. He was always tired; the dark dreariness of the atmosphere acted as a hard-to-swallow sleeping pill, rendering every inmate essentially useless. Nobody had the energy to fight back, so they just sat back.

Kyle lifted his eyes for a moment and examined the room full of zombie-like people around him. Many just wandered around, dragging their feet around the room in their medicated states. One man sat by himself at the chess table, throwing his hands up in the air and yelling gibberish at the empty chair across from him. A woman was curled up in a lone corner, banging her head against the concrete wall, pulling her hair out piece by piece. She had massive bruises covering her bald spots, some blood trickling down into what was left of her hair. A small girl named Pepper danced around with a tall Mexican woman, clapping her hands. The sound of "Dominique" on the record player was beginning to sound like a lullaby, pushing Kyle's eyes close even more.

Suddenly, the large wooden doors at the entrance of the room creaked open, causing Kyle's head to snap up. The room fell silent except for "Dominique" still playing in the far corner. Everyone stared at the two people standing in front of the door, their heads cocked to the side like confused dogs. The pair began walking, letting the doors close behind them. Kyle made out the faces of Sister Jude's favorite police officer Frank and the new girl.

Kyle couldn't tear his eyes away as he remembered the first time he saw her a few hours prior. A beat up VW loitering in front of the building had caught his eye from the window. She had honey blonde hair and amber eyes to match. Her hair was long and straight, worn down and parted in the middle. She was small all around, a stark contrast to the enormous building towering over her. Kyle noticed she hadn't been brought in in handcuffs or a straight jacket, she wasn't escorted in a police cruiser, she wasn't kicking and screaming through the doors. She looked quiet and hurt, like she was silently suffering.

She looked normal.

She didn't belong at a place like Briarcliff, she wasn't built for it. Her skin was porcelain, fragile and milky white, cold air biting at her cheeks and causing them to match the naked pink of her small lips. Her clothes didn't hug her body, but instead hung from her bony shoulders and hips, draped over her. The November wind moved through her to the bone, swaying her small frame with the slightest breeze.

She looked as if being on the property would break her in two. Kyle felt himself drawn to touch her, to hold his hand out to her and tell her she wasn't alone. That he wasn't crazy either.

Was he?

When she glanced up at the window, he felt power surge through him. Suddenly her body exuded confidence and she looked as strong as she made him feel. When he looked away, the energy was drained from his body once more. He glanced back down at her, hoping to get the same effect, but she was walking away, into the opened arms of Sister Mary Eunice, the same woman who had "welcomed" him.

He was sitting in front of the same window, staring at her again as she trailed reluctantly behind Frank. Kyle silently willed her to look at him again, curiosity washing over him. What had changed her entire demeanor in a matter of seconds? What had made his blood feel like it was pumping through him again, for the first time since he killed his mother?

Kyle was so zoned out from the memory of that night that he didn't even notice her amber eyes meeting his glazed ones until he felt the rush of energy course through his veins. This time, he relished in the feeling, slightly wiggling his fingers and toes, feeling the nerve endings tingle. His head felt cleared and bubbly, and for a moment he forgot where he was.

He focused on her again and realized she was staring back, looking him up and down. Inspecting him.

She thinks you're one of them, he panicked. You're just fucking staring at her and bouncing in your seat like a five year old. Stop fucking staring!

He whipped around in his seat, facing the window with a grimace on his face. He looked down at his hands, which felt cold again.

A box of plastic gloves were shoved in Kyle's face. "Spencer, you're on kitchen duty. Get."

He looked up from his hands and saw one of the orderlies glaring down at him, eyebrow cocked, almost begging Kyle to try something.

Instead, Kyle just glared back and snatched two flimsy gloves from the box, turning away from the man. He looked out the window and traced the outline of the sunset with his eyes; he must have been sitting there for hours.

When he was little, Kyle loved watching the sun set in the summertime. He would be getting ready for bed and would climb on top of his mattress, propping his scrawny elbows on the windowsill just above the bed. He would spend his next hour before "lights out" watching the clouds roll past the sun, casting a different color on his face every few minutes. His eyes would widen in excitement as he saw the sky getting darker, redder, like a fire dying down into red-hot embers.

Now, in late November, he thought the sun set way too early, the oranges and reds fading quickly into the consistently grey sky. Instead of flaming sparks, Kyle thought of the embers fizzling out, turning to exhausted flecks of black and white ashes.

"Get the fuck up!"

Kyle shot the man a venomous look again before rising from his seat, knocking it over in show. He pulled his gloves on, turning on one heel and walking through another set of double doors.

This place has so many fucking doors, one must lead straight to Hell.

Luckily the kitchen was right next to the "cafeteria"/"rec center" and was mostly empty. The kitchen staff was made up of mostly women, nuns volunteering to clean up after lunch and dinner. They were nothing like the Supreme Bitch that was Sister Jude, but more like Sister Mary Eunice - seemingly oblivious. However, these nuns truly had no idea what was happening. They were brought into the building through a guarded door that lead straight to the kitchen, and left the same way. They had no idea what went on behind closed doors.

Sister Mary Eunice, on the other hand, was blinded by fear. She was the Bitch's bitch, young and naive and scared half to death. If Sister Jude didn't have her on a leash, she could have easily been Kyle's ticket out of Briarcliff.

Kyle wondered what would compel a woman like Mary Eunice to come to a place like Briarcliff, and what would possess her to make her stay. There must have been some sort of force keeping her there, something stronger than the wrath of Sister Jude.

"Good evening, Mr. Spencer," a warm voice said, pulling Kyle from his thoughts. He looked up, meeting the eyes of a very young nun; she could have been nineteen at the oldest. Her smile was genuine and her eyes sparkled in the dim room. Her auburn bangs threatened to fall out of from under loose habit. She must have been new; nobody really remembered names except for the newbies and the much older women.

"Good evening..." Kyle trailed awkwardly, wishing nuns had name tags.

She didn't miss a beat, laughing lightly and smiling wider. "Sister Hazel." She bared a row of perfectly white and straight teeth, ones only braces could have positioned.

"Sister Hazel," he tried to smile back, but it ended up looking as fake as it was. "It's nice to see a smile around here."

"Well, you'll be seeing a lot of it. They have me working kitchen detail every other night. They said they're 'breaking me in'." Sister Hazel rolled her eyes playfully, her lips remaining curved. "Hopefully we can work together sometime, but I was finishing up from lunch. Maybe I'll see you next time."

"Maybe," Kyle tried to match her enthusiasm, but his blood felt stuck. His brain was thick and hazy, and forming complete sentences was like trudging through quicksand. He felt like he was drowning in his own words. "I need to get to work."

"Of course," she smiled one last time before pulling a bag up onto her shoulder. "Good night, Mr. Spencer."

"Good night, Sister Hazel."

She was ushered out the guarded door, and it was as if the room had lost a little bit of light.

The guard walked out with Sister Hazel, protecting the door from the other side. The rest of the kitchen staff dwindled down to a single middle aged nun who was rinsing the last of the lunch dishes.

"Isn't there supposed to be a dinner staff?" Kyle asked her as she packed her items to leave as well.

"We don't clean on Saturday evenings. They usually round up a few of you to help out and that's it. I think you've got someone else coming in to help you soon. Don't worry about it, honey, nobody hardly eats here. It's not much work." The nun placed her hand on Kyle's shoulder, her eyes filled with pity. It took all he had not to flinch away. That would probably lead to a hug.

Instead, he thanked her and forced another smile, watching her leave out the door.

The sudden silence of the room made him feel worse, and caused an eerie ringing in his ears. Kyle looked out the enormous window but the sky was black, the Moon somewhere out of sight.

He tried to imagine the sunset again, but the memory was suddenly distorted in his mind. The orange glow reminded him of his jumpsuit in court and the pink tinged clouds reminded him of his rubbed-raw wrists and the reddened sun reminded him of the blood.

So much blood.

It moved the way the sunset did, slowly creeping, covering more and more of the surrounding area before it was almost unreal. It touched everything, seeping into cracks and dying everything a different color.

The ringing got louder as Kyle looked down at his hands and examined his fingernails. Dried blood was still tainting them, so deep under his nails he couldn't reach it. The metallic smell filled the air around him, hitting him so hard he fell against one of the metal tables, sending him crashing to the floor. He tried to scream but all he could hear was the ringing and the sound of his mother's body hitting his floor. His eyes clouded over, red filling his vision.

He saw the blood spattering against the wall, streaming down to the floor and into his mother's hair. He felt the trophy break off inside of her head. He saw her cold eyes staring at him as two police officers lifted him off the floor, holding guns to him and binding his hands behind his back. He saw his neighbors and his friends and complete strangers weeping and screaming and hating him.

Just as the red began to fade into a black abyss, his veins felt lighter and his nerves tingled again. He felt two small hands pressing on his shoulders, encasing him in a strange embrace. Adrenaline ran through him and his vision cleared.

There she was, crouched in front of him, desperately searching his eyes for something. Her hands remained firmly on his shoulders, her fingers curling around them. Her mouth was moving, and as the ringing subsided he finally heard her.

"Come back to me. What happened?" She sounded drained, but that was a very common tone at Briarcliff.

"I saw it again," Kyle panted, coming back to reality. "Her."

"Your mother." It wasn't a question. "You killed her. She hurt you, and you killed her."

Kyle met her eyes again and slowly nodded, hoping it wouldn't send her running.

She shook her head, and his stomach dropped until she pulled him into her frail arms. "I won't leave you," she whispered in his ear. "I know what it's like to be abandoned when you really need somebody."

He rested his head on her shoulder, too high on energy to ask questions.

"I'll get Frank. I'll tell him you had an episode or something, that you can't clean." She pulled away and stared into his eyes again, trying to reassure him. She started to stand, but Kyle grabbed her hands, too afraid to let go. If he let go, it would happen again.

"What's your name?" He scowled at how pathetic it came out, almost a whimper.

"Zoe," she tugged on his grip, worry flashing across her face.

"Why are you here, Zoe?"

Her face turned even whiter, if that were even possible. "I'll go get Frank."

Zoe successfully pulled away, hurrying out of the kitchen without looking back. Kyle slumped against the table again, but this time the strength didn't leave him.

He felt magical.

author's note: oh my, that last line was much too cheesy. i tried to making this chapter longer without packing too much info in at once. zoe & kyle finally met, yaaaayyy! i hope you liked it! if you did, you should totally review, it makes certain people happy. {me}

SO i was wondering what you guys would think about different point of views in later chapters? maybe a sister jude chapter? tell me what you think!

again, thank you guys so much for the continued support, it literally makes my day. i hope i can make you as happy as you make me! {it's 3:33 am, i need to go to bed lol}